Meaning is . . .

Meaning is

finding the story of you

inside the warehouse of you

said loud enough to yourself

that you hear it

even if you only know

you are overhearing it

from where that deeply occurs

sort of mindlessly within you

but it is the narrative being of you

rambling on about the doing of you

maybe even inadvertently penetrating

the awareness of you

that is pervading abruptly

both as the self-consciousness of you

together with

the sensate invasion of you

caught in the unending stampede

or the raging firestorm

or the still unexpected flashflood

or the whole life holocaust of you

venturing forward

second by second

as if grain-by-grain

falling through the resistance

of the hourglass neck hold

of unavoidable persistence

readied by the past

distracted by the impending

and blatantly materialized

into the nanosecond evidence

as ever presenting

a hurling counterpoint representation

reflected as your consciousness

depicting you

and the worlds of audience

and participation around you

in the ever ongoing tongue-lashing

ear piercing mental equivalency

called your meaningful life . . .